In Bed With the Devil (19 page)

“Do you think it is an easy thing to know you are responsible for your friend's death?”

“She's not dead yet. Don't give up on her so easily. Bill is very good at what he does.”

“Two of Avendale's wives have died. I shall never forgive myself if Winnie does as well. Because I was a coward and waited. As much as I wanted the deed done, I began to worry about how I would feel afterward, how I'd live with myself. And now look what's happened to her.”

“Catherine, it's not your fault.”

“It is. As I explained.”

“What did you do, sweetheart? You sent out an invitation to a person he'd not anticipated. I killed a man and no one took a fist to me.” He put his arm around her, drew her near, and pressed a kiss to her temple. “His punishment doesn't fit your crime.”

Catherine took such comfort from Claybourne's nearness. From the moment that Winnie's lady's maid had shown up at Catherine's residence weeping, Catherine had feared the worst, and she'd not hesitated to send for Claybourne, for herself more so than Winnie. She knew she could draw from his strength. Knew she would find comfort in his presence.

“How many stab wounds would it take to kill a person?” she asked.

“One if you do it right. But using a knife makes it very personal, Catherine.”

“A pistol would be better then.”

“Only if you're a very good marksman.”

She moved out from beneath his arm and shored up her courage. “Can you teach me to be a good marksman?”

“I could. But I see no need. I'll take care of this matter.”

He took her hand, rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, then circled it over the back of her hand. It felt so lovely, so tender, so reassuring.

“I thought you were a beast,” she said quietly.

“Closer to the devil, don't you think?”

Ah, yes, the Devil Earl. She couldn't recall the last time she'd thought of him in those terms. “Why did you kill the man you did?”

“Because he hurt Frannie.”

Catherine tried to remember when everything had taken place.

“She would have been a child at the time.”

“Indeed, she was, and in spite of the life she'd led, up until that moment, she was a very sweet and innocent child.”

“Have you killed anyone else?”

He slowly shook his head.

“But you'll kill Avendale?”

He gave one brusque nod.

“Will you be able to live with it?”

With his thumb, he wiped the tears from her cheek. “That's for me to worry about.”

“You said I was asking you to give up the last of your soul.”

“There's only a small bit left. Giving it up will be no hardship.”

But she feared it
would
be a great hardship, that
it would change him irrevocably into a man she could no longer love. Oh, dear Lord, when had she fallen in love with him? Had there been a precise moment or had it been simply an accumulation of many?

“It was easier for me to ask you do this before I knew you,” she said.

“And it's easier for me to do now because I know you better.”

The bedchamber door opened. A somber Dr. Graves and Frannie stepped out. Catherine came to her feet, expecting the worst.

“She's going to recover, but she's going to require a lot of care,” Dr. Graves said. “She's been terribly abused in very personal ways.”

Catherine nodded. Winnie had been conscious for a while, in pain, suffering, weeping over the atrocities her husband had made her endure: raping her, beating her, striving to break her spirit. She feared he'd succeeded with the last. “I can see after her.”

Claybourne urged everyone closer. “Can she travel?”

Dr. Graves widened his eyes. “Not far, not far at all.”

“She doesn't have to go far.” Claybourne sighed. “Avendale has been having Catherine followed. He's also responsible for the attack on us that night.”

“What?” Catherine asked. “How do you know all this?”

“Jim caught one of the ruffians he hired to follow you. We were discussing the matter with him when I received your missive. Avendale must
be dealt with but not here, not in London, where he may have resources of which I'm not aware. My plan is this. We will lead people to believe that we are taking the duchess to my country estate. You should come with us, Catherine. Avendale will come to you first, searching for his wife.”

“But my father—”

“He'll be watched. No harm will come to him.”

She believed him, absolutely without question.

“We'll do a switch,” he continued, “take the ladies to your residence, Bill, where you and Lady Catherine can look after the duchess. I shall travel on to Heatherwood. Avendale is sure to follow me there if we leave enough clues. At which time, I shall put the matter to rights.”

“What about Whit?” Catherine asked.

Graves looked at her. “Who's Whit?”

“Avendale's heir,” Claybourne responded before she could. “We'll bring the lad with us. I suggest we move quickly. Bill, can you help me prepare the duchess for travel?”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Catherine, you get the lad,” Claybourne said. “Remember, we want it to look as though we're all going to the country.”

Catherine nodded, her mind racing.

“Good girl,” he said, just before he quickly disappeared into Winnie's bedchamber with the doctor.

“I'll help you get the lad,” Frannie said. “We want to talk loudly as we move through the house about our going to Heatherwood.”

Catherine grabbed her arm. “Claybourne is going to face Avendale alone.”

“It would seem so, yes.”

“I can't let him go alone, Frannie. I brought him into this mess.”

“He's not going to put others at risk. It's not his way. He won't let you go with him if that's what you're thinking.”

“I'll not give him a choice. Will you look after Winnie for me?”

“Catherine—”

“I've come to care for him, Frannie. I'm no threat to you. I know you hold his heart, but I can't bear the thought of him facing Avendale alone. I know there will be little I can do except to stand by him, but stand by him I must. Can you understand?”

“Have you considered your reputation if you go through with this madness? If you travel with him alone?”

“Who will know that I have gone if we simply say that I am with you and Winnie? His servants shan't know who I am. They'll think I'm some trollop. My name need never be associated with him.” Reaching out, she squeezed Frannie's hand. “Do you really want him to face this alone?”

Frannie shook her head. “No, I'd planned to go with him, actually. But you're right. You're the better choice. I'll take care of Winnie and you take care of Luke.” She squeezed Catherine's hand so hard that Catherine nearly cried out. “Don't leave him alone, especially at night. For some reason, he doesn't do well at Heatherwood. Avendale won't be the only demon he'll face.”

Catherine detected an urging in Frannie's voice, saw an understanding in her eyes, that was giving
Catherine permission for something beyond what they were discussing, but before she could ask for confirmation, she heard the door to the bedchamber opening.

“You get Whit,” Frannie said. “I'm going to travel with Bill to his residence so all is ready when Luke feels it's safe.”

Catherine nodded and headed down the hallway to the nursery. There was so much to get done, and for this plan to work, they needed to get everything in place before Avendale returned home.

Things moved at a rapid pace. Catherine found Winnie's lady's maid and instructed her to pack a small bag of clothing for the duchess, that she was going to Claybourne's country estate to recover. Then Catherine packed a smaller bag for Whit. While servants put the bags into Claybourne's waiting coach, she woke Whit and carried the small boy outside. Claybourne joined her there, carrying Winnie bundled in blankets.

Now he held Winnie on his lap, trying to provide an extra buffer between her and the rattling coach. Periodically, Winnie groaned and Whit sniffled.

They'd stopped at Catherine's residence, and she'd stuffed a simple dress, nightclothes, and undergarments into a satchel for herself. Then she'd gone to see her father. He'd been awake, or at least his eyes had been open.

“Winnie's been hurt. She's going to the country to recuperate, and I'm going with her. Please don't worry. I'll be fine. And I'll be back in a few days.” She'd kissed him on the forehead. “Don't go while I'm gone.”

She'd left instructions for his care with her servants—not that they truly needed any. They'd been taking care of him for longer than a year now.

Now Catherine slipped her finger beneath the coach curtain and peered out. She could see tenement houses. “How certain are you of your plan?”

“As certain as I can be,” Claybourne said.

The coach came to an abrupt halt. The door opened. Dr. Graves was standing there. After Claybourne shifted Winnie into his arms, Graves turned away. Then Frannie was in the doorway, holding her hand out to Whit.

Claybourne turned to the boy. “Don't be afraid. They're going to take care of you and you're going to take care of your mother. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded.

“Good lad.” Claybourne ushered him to the doorway where Frannie took him in her arms. She looked at Catherine, gave a barely discernible nod, and moved away.

And then the footman was there, holding out his hand to Catherine. She took a deep breath, released it. “I'm going with you.”

“Don't be daft,” Claybourne said.

She reached out, grabbed the door handle, and slammed the door closed—almost nipping the footman in the process. She settled back, hands folded primly. “I'm not going to allow you to face him alone.”

“Dear God, Catherine, he's not going to be in a pleasant mood.”

“I don't care.”

“I'm likely to do things to him of which you will not approve.”

“Do you honestly think, after seeing what he did to my friend, that there is anything you could do to him of which I wouldn't approve?”

“Your reputation—”

“The servants here all believe that Winnie is traveling with us. As for the servants at your estate, I assume they'll be discreet. As far as I can determine, Avendale is the only one who might cause us any problem, and I assume you'll deal with him.”

“I should toss you over my shoulder—”

“And kiss my bare bottom? You don't frighten me, Lord Claybourne. You wouldn't harm a woman if your life depended on it. Unlike Avendale who would strike his wife simply because he didn't fancy the color of her gown. I'm not staying behind.”

He cursed soundly, signaled his footman, and a few seconds later, the coach sprang forward.

“You're the most irritating woman I've ever had the misfortune to know,” he ground out. Then he shifted, took her hands, and pressed his mouth to her bare knuckles. “And the most courageous.”

“If I were so courageous, I'd have never involved you.”

He moved until he was sitting beside her and had her nestled against his side. “It should have never fallen to you to see to the matter to begin with.”

“She's my dearest friend in all the world.”

“We will do what we can to salvage your reputation.”

“I care only that Avendale is dealt with. What are your plans for him?”

“I need some answers from him. Depending on what they are, I may try to reason with him.”

“And if he'll not provide the answers or be reasoned with?”

“Heatherwood is a rather large estate. A man can easily get lost and never be found.”

T
he coach came to a stop outside Claybourne's ancestral residence the following night, long after dark. The footman opened the door

“Stay here,” Claybourne ordered.

“I'll not be bullied—”

He sighed with impatience. “Catherine, do you trust me?”

“Do you trust me?”

“With my life,” he said.

Oh, dear Lord, she'd not expected him to place that burden on her. What was she doing here? How had she brought them to this moment?

“I think things between us would go much better if you'd simply explain the reason for your orders,” she told him. “I don't mean to be difficult, but I don't want to be kept in the dark either.”

“Very well. I'm going to send most of my servants to the village for two reasons. I want them out of harm's way and it'll increase the likelihood of preserving your reputation, so I need you to stay hidden until they're gone. A butler and a few footmen are all who will stay behind.”

Nodding, she settled back. “I shall wait patiently like a good little girl.”

He chuckled low. “I have a feeling you've never been good a day in your life.”

Before she could castigate him for that erroneous assessment of her, he'd disappeared out the door. He'd not allowed her to be seen at any of the inns where they'd stopped to change horses and purchase food. He always bought an inordinate amount of food as though he had several people to feed. If Avendale stopped where they'd stopped, if he made inquiries, he'd think Winnie was in the coach. Winnie and Whit.

He would be furious when he discovered he'd been duped.

Catherine heard the whinny of horses and the rumble of carriage and wagon wheels. She supposed the servants would use whatever means possible to travel to the nearby village. She'd not meant to put everyone out. But Claybourne was right. They would be safer there.

The minutes dragged slowly by. Finally, she heard movement in the boot and assumed the footman was gathering Claybourne's satchel and hers. The door opened, and she released a tiny squeal.

“Are you all right?” Claybourne asked, and she thought she detected humor in his voice.

“Yes, quite.”

He held out his hand. “Come on, then.”

She put her hand in his, felt his strong fingers close around hers, and all her doubts and worries dissipated. This was Claybourne. He'd survived much worse than a cad like Avendale.
Together they would see that Winnie was safe forever.

She stepped out of the coach. Although she could only see the silhouette, she could tell that his residence was grand. She placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to escort her with the footman scurrying ahead with their bags.

“Under normal circumstances, the guests sleep in the east wing, the family in the west. But these circumstances are hardly normal. I've instructed the footman to put your belongings in the bedchamber next to mine. I want you near, Catherine, so I can assure your safety. I'll not take advantage.”

The last was said quietly, almost with a measure of regret echoing through it. She couldn't deny that she felt a bit of disappointment.

“Well, it's not as though I haven't spent the night in your bed,” she said.

He lost his footing, and suddenly she was reaching for him to help him keep his balance. When he was again standing tall, he said, “You play a very dangerous game, Lady Catherine Mabry.”

Too late she'd come to realize that fact. But she'd not retreat now. She'd do whatever necessary to achieve her end.

“Don't you think I should have a false name while I'm here?”

“Did you have something in mind?”

They'd reached the steps and were climbing toward the door.

“What was your name when you were a lad? Before the Earl of Claybourne discovered you?” she asked.

“Locke. Luke Locke. I was very skilled at picking locks. Most of us were orphans, didn't know our real names anyway. But even for those who did, Feagan always insisted on changing their names. When they came to him, they started life anew. So what would you like your name to be?”

Now that it was upon her, she couldn't think of anything. “I have no skills. What would you suggest?”

“Heart. Because it is your generous heart that has brought us this adventure.”

He opened the door.

“Is that how you see it?” she asked. “As an adventure?”

“For now.”

She walked into the foyer. The wooden floor gleamed. Busts and statuettes decorated tables. Paintings hung on the walls. No butler stood at attention.

“I've told the remaining servants to remain scarce unless called for.”

“Oh. You might have said so instead of playing along with my desire for a false name.”

He smiled warmly. “You never know when you might need a false name.”

“I think you're mocking me.”

He grew serious. “I would never mock you, Catherine.”

“Aren't you the least bit concerned about what awaits us with Avendale?”

“We have a while yet. No need to fret until it's time to fret. Let me show you to your room.”

It was exactly as he'd told her—right next to his. She knew because the door separating their
rooms was open and she could see the footman putting away Claybourne's things. She wondered if he had put hers away as well.

“I assume you left no women servants behind,” Catherine said.

“No. The fairer sex is called the fairer sex for a reason.” He held up a finger. “I know you're an exception. If you need assistance undressing”—he cleared his throat—“I'll do what I can.”

“I should be fine. I was already abed when Winnie's maid came to fetch me.” She held out her arms. “As you can see I dressed as simply as possible in order to dress as quickly as possible.”

“If you'd like to bathe, I'll have the footman bring up warm water.”

“I would like that,” she said, “before bed. Right now, I must confess that I'm rather famished.”

“I'm afraid I sent my cook to the village. Would an omelet suffice?”

She smiled. “Very nicely. Thank you.”

 

Luke knew he should have protested more. He should have insisted Catherine stay behind, but what was done was done. He couldn't deny that he took some pride—undeservedly, of course—in showing her various rooms as he escorted her to the kitchen. The Claybourne legacy was grand.

Nor could he deny the pleasure it brought him to prepare her an omelet or how much he enjoyed having her watch him from her place at the large table where servants usually enjoyed a quick meal or a bit of gossip. He planned to confront Avendale alone. He just had to convince Catherine to leave. But he was in no hurry to do so.

“When do you think Avendale will arrive?” she asked.

He heard the worry in her voice. He didn't think she was frightened. Apprehensive perhaps. He poured a glass of red wine and handed it to her. “Drink that. It'll help you relax.”

She did as he bade without arguing. Oh, yes, she wasn't nearly as calm as she appeared.

“He won't be here for a while,” Luke assured her, remembering another time when he'd prepared her an omelet. “I sent word to Jack. He's going to ply him with liquor. That should set him back a day, and I suspect it'll take Avendale another day or so to work up the courage to come here.”

He placed the omelet on a plate and set it on the table.

“You still haven't mastered preparing two at a time?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I'm afraid not.”

She took a bite of the omelet and studied him. “You're not at all worried, are you?”

“About facing Avendale? No. I would be more comfortable if you weren't here.”

“You won't convince me to leave and I'll not drink enough wine to lose my wits.”

“Have you
ever
drunk
that
much?”

Nodding, she gave him an impish smile. “The night before Winnie married Avendale, actually. I stayed with her and we took several bottles from her father's wine cellar. The next day I was so miserable. I thought I might be ill at the church.”

He gave her a sardonic smile. “I've had many
occasions where I have been ill.” He sliced off a section of omelet. “Did she love him?”

“I think he fascinated her. He can be quite charming. Quite honestly, he'd given me reason to believe that he had interest in me, before he shifted his attention to Winnie.”

Luke's stomach tightened and his appetite fled. When he thought of Catherine with the likes of Avendale—

“Then that night after you came to the ball he stopped calling.” She released a little cry of surprise, her eyes wide. “Oh my goodness, you don't suppose he changed his mind because I didn't cower when you looked at me?”

“I suppose it's possible.”

“More than possible I'd say. He wouldn't want someone who'd stand up to him. It seems I owe you more than I realize.”

“You don't owe me anything, Catherine.”

“That wasn't our arrangement.”

“As you said at the ball, we've become friends of a sort. So as a friend, I shall rid you of the problem of Avendale.”

 

An hour later, as Catherine brushed her hair following her bath, she admitted to herself that she'd enjoyed their late-night repast in the kitchen, relaxing as the minutes progressed, not so much because of the wine—she'd drunk more than she'd intended—but because of Claybourne's ability to distract her from what they would soon face. They'd spoken of inconsequential things: the rain that had started to fall while they ate, the finely crafted furniture that he'd been told had been
in the family for three generations, the portraits painted by the most famous of artists. He promised to show her the grounds the next day.

“There'll be time,” he said.

She was grateful that she'd come, that she had this little bit of time with him—alone. Just the two of them.

She kept thinking about Frannie's comment that Catherine was the better choice to accompany him and her urging Catherine to take care of him. She didn't doubt that Claybourne loved Frannie, but she did question whether or not Frannie loved him as deeply as he deserved—as deeply as Catherine did.

Setting the brush down, she realized that she'd never have an opportunity like this again. Once they confronted Avendale or he confronted them, once the matter was resolved, they'd return to London. Their bargain would be at an end, and Claybourne would become nothing more than a name handwritten on an invitation to her balls.

After circling the dance floor in Claybourne's arms, Catherine knew her reputation was undoubtedly ruined—even if no one ever discovered that she'd traveled alone with him.

He'd told her that first night that the price she'd pay for waltzing with the devil was residing in hell. Well, she'd waltzed with him and if hell was coming, she wanted a good deal more than a waltz.

He was sleeping in the room next to hers. So close. So very close.

Yet she knew, with absolutely no doubt, that he'd not come to her. That he'd not take advan
tage of her nearness. He was a scoundrel and a gentleman.

He was the man she'd quite simply fallen madly in love with. And if she could have only one night with him, she would make it enough to last her lifetime.

 

Luke stood at the window in his bedchamber, staring out at the night. He'd bathed earlier and now wore nothing except a silk robe. He'd hoped the warm bath would bring slumber, but he never slept well here. To make matters worse, he couldn't stop thinking about Catherine being in the next room. What had possessed him to give in to her demands and allow her to accompany him?

He didn't think she'd be in danger. He felt quite confident that he could handle Avendale. But it had been reckless to bring her. Even more so when he considered the truth of it: he wanted her near.

She'd brought him into this situation and should face it with him.

Oh, if only his reasons were that selfless. But no, they were completely selfish. Once he saw to Avendale, Luke's portion of their arrangement would be completed and Catherine would become little more than someone he saw occasionally at a ball—if he and Frannie attended balls. He'd not force her if she remained reluctant. So perhaps Catherine would no longer be in his life at all.

He was taken aback by the despair that particular thought brought.

He couldn't deny that he cared for her. He enjoyed her company. He admired her courage, her loyalty to her friend. He admired the manner in
which she carried burdens with no complaint. He admired the slope of her throat, the plumpness of her lips—

Groaning, he dug his fingers into the edge of the window. He'd hurl himself through it before he dishonored Frannie by taking another woman to his bed now that he'd asked her to marry him. But Frannie was not yet his wife. She was not even his betrothed. She was simply the woman he adored, the one he'd always envisioned spending his life with. He pressed his forehead to the outer corner of the window. Was adoration love?

He'd known her more years than he'd known Catherine, yet at that precise moment he couldn't remember the shape of Frannie's lips. The hue. Were they a dark red or pink? Catherine's were the red of an apple, freshly fallen from a tree.

It made no sense that Catherine occupied so much of his mind when Frannie was the one he wanted as his wife.

But God help him, Catherine was the one he desired.

And not only physically. She was the one he looked forward to talking to each evening. She was the one whose smile made his heart beat a little faster. She was the one he wanted to explore—not only every curve of her body but every facet of her mind. She fascinated, tempted, and beguiled him as he'd never before been fascinated, tempted, or beguiled. He told himself it was because she was new while Frannie was familiar—yet Catherine didn't feel new. She never had. From the first moment he'd spotted her at
that ball all those years ago, when he'd gazed into her eyes, he'd thought that if he still possessed all his soul it would have found its mate in hers. But his soul was but a remnant, and in very short order it would be gone completely.